


heavenly bloom

by fourthdimnsion



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Father-Daughter Relationship, Flower Crowns, Gen, just a little late but hey it's all good, maybe i enjoyed writing flower descriptions a bit too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28407876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthdimnsion/pseuds/fourthdimnsion
Summary: To show how much he means to her, Brenda gives Jorge a simple yet sincere Christmas gift.
Relationships: Brenda & Jorge (Maze Runner)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	heavenly bloom

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant first to be a christmas gift for my friend eddie (who made me watch the maze runner movies, yes), but it ended so good that i wanted to post it here. merry (late) christmas!

Brenda liked to craft things. Ever since Christmas Eve had arrived, she’s been working on something she didn’t allow Jorge to see, but it was “something special” to be known only when it’s midnight, officially day twenty-five of december. 

Since then, Jorge didn’t bother in asking further questions, although sometimes he’d found himself peeking on whatever she’s so busy working on. 

  
  


They’ve built a small garden on their simple house. There’s a few vegetables planted on the fertile ground, and — by Brenda’s insistence and the fact that Jorge hasn’t much endurance over her insistence — a few vases with flowers planted in it, bringing some sort of colour along the red of the tomatoes and the greens of the leaves. 

When Jorge walked through, he spotted the vases. Springs were always the center of his attention by the little white spots highlighting themselves in the midst of a vibrant, dark pink. Then, it shifts to the hibiscus, whose he always sees a bee landing over it. The purple of the petunias are hauntingly beautiful, and somehow those always remind him of Brenda, always. In contrast, the lantanas look like small balls made out of fire, a degradee from the sunshine yellow spreading onto burning red, but not as hot as the scorch was back then. 

There’s also two small pots on the ground with recently planted baby’s breath and daisies. Jorge took care of the daisies since he knew that they were delicate, not having as much endurance as the other flowers whose strength comes from the sun. 

When he occasionally stopped by in the day twenty-four, at night, to water them, he noticed that the two of them had a few branches cut in half, a few blooms missing. He frowned — and when realization hit, he clenched his jaw and shrugged. Teresa, and maybe Minho and Newt as well. Probably. 

Brenda is not only brave, but she’s kind, gentle. Jorge smiled at that thought, thinking that he raised her very well. 

  
  


Nothing had stopped them from having a little Christmas tree. A few decorations went missing as well as the star that goes on the top, but it didn’t stop them from the sparkles around the tree. 

The only peculiar thing is the wrapped square box underneath it. 

“Did Santa Claus stop by?” Jorge says, sarcastically, but deep down he’s curious. Brenda was placing the cutlery on the table when she looked over her shoulder and smirked at him, not saying a word before returning to the tidying. “So it’s a surprise, then. Good. I like surprises.” 

She sighs. “Mind you help me out, please?”

“I’ve done all the dinner and you still ask me that,” he mutters, but helps her anyway. 

  
  


Jorge sips on a small portion of wine when midnight hits and Brenda picks the box underneath the tree. It’s hers, of course it’s hers. Who else could it be if Santa doesn’t even exist? 

She sits on his side, then reaches the gift to him. “Merry Christmas,” she says, and her eyes are full of expectancy when his eyes fall on the box. “It’s yours, Jorge.” 

It took him a few seconds to process, then he realized it. Again. He quickly moisten his lips and leaves the glass over the wooden center table, picking her gift with delicacy even when it’s all wrapped up. He undid the tie and opened it in the same measure, only to feel a warm fuzzy feeling all over his chest. 

Brenda was relieved when she saw a soft smile appear on Jorge’s lips. He analyzed it for a while before raising it to his face; a wonderfully handcrafted flower crown made out of fresh blooms of daisies, a few branches of baby’s breath and eucalyptus leaves. The last one he guessed by the scent it leaves, and it only increased his amaze by the gift. Although…

“Bren, I…” He tried, but somehow his voice was weak. He softened a lot with so little. “I didn’t do anything for you. I mean…” 

“You don’t need to,” she cuts him. “I’m happy with what I have.” 

He snorts. “But this—,” he tries, yet he gives up with her stare. She’s defying him to keep with this attitude, but deep down she’s just sweet and she’s just trying to give him something meaningful after all he’s done for her. A Christmas gift is welcome, but his patience, protection, the safety they have with each other isn’t anything Santa Claus can offer so easily. 

Jorge still has that countenance, but wears the flower crown anyway. He places it on the top of his head, trying to not mess with his grey little curls, and he finds it so sweet that he wouldn’t complain if she cut out a few of his daisies or even throw a comment about the missing eucalyptus. It’s the intention that matters — and when he looked at himself in the mirror (and Brenda followed him), he truly knew it. 

  
  


“ _Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_ ” she heard him sing. “ _Let your heart be light…_ ”

Brenda hasn’t seen him this way for, like, ages. While she poured wine on her glass — and he said that she should drink only one —, his voice sounded loud, deep and clear, the lyrics of every old Christmas song rolling easily on his tongue as one of the sweetest memories he has of before the flare, when everything was on the edge. Not normal, actually troubled times, but something good was gathered from there. 

She took a sip and immediately flinched with the taste of fermented grape, but as soon as she took the next one, she got along with it. Brenda paced from the kitchen to the living room almost guided by Jorge’s sweet voice. She giggles at the sight of him dancing with a glass of wine in one hand, and the other one holds a pillow, all of that while wearing the flower crown she gave him. 

“ _Once again as in olden days, happy golden days of yore_ ,” he sings with an emphasis on ‘yore’ just as Judy Garland does, leaving Brenda in awe. When Jorge’s eyes meet hers, he playfully points at her and follows in, “ _Faithful friends who are near to us, will be dear to us, once moooooore…_ ” 

Brenda walks in, and Jorge throws the pillow away. She smiles before wrapping her arms around his waist, and in response, he holds her with a hand on her shoulders. She could feel his voice vibrating on his chest when he kept singing along. 

“ _Somedays soon, we all will be together, if the fates allow…_ ” 

She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes for a brief moment. 

“ _Until then, we’ll have tomorrow through, somehow_ ,” then, she feels him softly stroking her shoulder, resting his chin on the top of her head, lowering his voice. “ _So have yourself a merry little Christmas, now…_ ” 

  
  


Alcohol might’ve hit in. 

Brenda is laid on the couch, feet bare over the wooden centre table, the third (or fourth, who knows) glass of wine left in the kitchen. A gloomy melody echoes through the room, and as much as it’s festive, it’s too sad to even consider it a Christmas carol. Jorge seems to like it. 

He still sings along, but after a few songs, he lowered his voice tone. It’s more smooth than ever now. 

They’re sitting side by side, but she’s unconsciously snuggling against his shoulder, arms crossed over her chest but deep down she’s more like bracing herself. Jorge has his feet as well over the table, and over his chest he rests the glass of wine, whose liquid dances with his voice or even his breath. Brenda’s attention — the short attention someone has when they’re a few steps from falling asleep — shifts between that and the sparkles of the tree, its rhythm not matching with the melancholic melody. 

“ _Sleep in heavenly peace_ ,” he sings. “ _Sleep in heavenly peace_ …” 

She slowly closes her eyes within the peace his voice brings, and Jorge looks beneath him. When “Adeste Fideles” starts in, even with the joyful and more upbeat feeling it has, he doesn’t follow. He slides a hand over her shoulder, and she quietly nuzzles against him. 

Jorge briefly smiles, but it’s more a sense of contentment than guilt for not giving her what she truly deserves. He still hasn’t figured out what’s the best for her, but when she reaches a hand through him and holds him softly, he might believe that he’s on the right path.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
